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‘Let’s do that, then,’ Vikram said, surprising her. ‘We can go to the Jim Corbett National Park, or to one of the reserves in MP—Band-havgarh or Pench.’
‘Won’t that look a little odd?’ Tara asked.
Characteristically, Vikram shrugged. ‘It’s our business where we go,’ he said. ‘I’ll have to pull a few strings to get us a booking in time. And we can do Khajuraho either before or after.’
Tara’s face promptly flamed in embarrassment—Khajuraho was famous for its erotic temple sculptures, and she did not want to spend the rest of her life having her leg pulled by people who knew she’d gone there on her honeymoon.
‘OK, the Taj Mahal, then,’ Vikram said, noticing her confusion. ‘I suggested Khajuraho because it’s in the same state as Pench, but if the idea bothers you we can go and see the Taj.’ She looked unconvinced, and he added ‘By moonlight?’ in encouraging tones.
‘I can’t decide which would be worse,’ she muttered, and he laughed outright.
Tara had decided quite early on that Vikram’s laugh was one of the sexiest things about him, and an automatic little thrill ran through her. His laugh or his voice—the jury was still out on which was sexier. Maybe she should invite her friends to meet him and then do a poll. She realised suddenly that he was saying something, and gave him an enquiring look.
‘What’s the Taj done to upset you?’ he repeated.
‘It’s a tomb!’ Tara said defensively. ‘Besides, I’ve already seen it.’
It had been a hateful trip, staying in a cheap hotel and going to the Taj on a bus full of other penny-pinching small-town tourists. Seeing the Taj with Vikram would be something else all together—but visiting a monument to love when they were both marrying for convenience seemed ironic to say the least.
‘Hmm,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘I’ll figure something else out, then.’ He touched her hair, threading his fingers slowly through its length. ‘Let me know what you want to do about your surname.’
‘I’d like to keep my own, if it’s all the same to you,’ Tara said. ‘I don’t like the sound of Naintara Krishnan.’
She stood up abruptly. The feel of his hands tangling in her hair was doing weird things to her insides, and the temptation to jump on him and claw his clothes off was immense. But both their mothers were in the next room. Being caught making out with her fiancé in the living room of her parents’ house would give bringing shame to the family a completely new and different twist.
‘Something wrong?’ Vikram asked when she got up and moved away.
‘No,’ Tara replied. ‘I’m tired of sitting in one place like a lump of dough, that’s all.’
He grinned at that, lounging back on the cushions. ‘You don’t look very doughy,’ he said. ‘More like a jumpy kitten. Come back here.’
There wasn’t even a hint of command in his voice, but Tara found herself obeying him automatically, going and sitting next to him on the sofa.
‘Nervous about the honeymoon?’ he asked softly, and she nodded.
‘It’s not just the honeymoon, it’s the whole marriage thing!’ she blurted out. ‘It’s taking on a life of its own. My mum is obsessing about my trousseau, yours is picking out honeymoon destinations, there’s a bunch of my dad’s relatives coming down from Chennai I’ve never met before in my life. I’ve completely lost track of what’s happening! And I’m finding it difficult to get my head around the whole thought of being married. This isn’t like going away to college, is it? It’s like a … a … brand-new life I’m getting into, and I don’t feel prepared. You seem so completely in control, and you know exactly what you want. I feel like a confused mess in comparison!’ She ran out of breath and stopped.
‘I’m a little nervous, too,’ he said quietly.
She blinked. ‘Are you?’ she asked, ‘Seriously?’
Vikram’s voice had a wry undertone as he replied. ‘Seriously. I guess I’m just better at hiding it than you are.’
‘Lawyer training.’ Tara sighed. ‘Playing your cards close to your chest. I wish someone had taught me how to do that. I inevitably say exactly what I’m thinking.’
‘That’s one of the nicest things about you,’ Vikram said, and smiled. ‘Don’t look so tragic, Tara, it’ll work out. We’re both sensible people, and each of us knows what the other one is expecting from this marriage. There’s no reason for things to go wrong.’
Put like that, their wedding sounded like a dry and soulless business arrangement. Tara sighed again. She’d told Vikram she didn’t believe in romance and being swept off her feet, but a small dose of affection would have helped.
Vikram watched her square her shoulders unconsciously, as if to prepare for a not very palatable task. Her smooth forehead was puckered in thought, and her lips were pursed slightly. She looked determined and vulnerable at the same time. So far he’d been very careful not to touch her, beyond a casual peck on the cheek or a caress on the hand, but the temptation to kiss her now was immense.
‘You’re leaving tomorrow, aren’t you?’ Tara asked, her head still downcast.
‘I’ve been away from work for almost two weeks,’ Vikram said. ‘I need to get back and get things in order before November.’
Tara didn’t reply, and he took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tipping her face up so that he could look into her eyes.
‘Cheer up,’ he said quietly.
She blinked, a little breathless, ‘I am! I mean I’m cheerful enough. Just a little jittery.’
‘Maybe this will help …’ he said.
She shivered at the promise in his husky voice, staring mesmerised into his eyes as he bent his head. He kissed her very gently, his lips feather-light against hers. The sensation was exquisite, but Tara felt herself begin to panic. She didn’t know how to respond. Her impulse was to drag his head closer and make him keep kissing her, but she had a feeling she should be doing something herself—moving her lips? Doing something with her tongue? She could have screamed in frustration when he released her after barely ten seconds.
‘See you in a month,’ he said softly, and she stepped back.
They didn’t have much time to talk after that, as Vikram’s mother came bustling into the room after a few minutes to take Tara’s opinion on a menu for the wedding reception.
The next month was crazy. Vikram went back to Bengaluru after putting an embarrassingly large diamond on Tara’s finger, and both his mother and Tara’s threw themselves into wedding preparations. Tara stayed out of them as much as possible, concentrating on getting some preliminary reading done for her PhD before the wedding took over her life. Vikram called a few times, and e-mailed often, but the conversations had a surreal quality to them—they ended up discussing trivial things, like whether the colour of the tie he was wearing to the reception would clash with her sari, rather than the fact that they were days away from committing to spending the rest of their lives together.
The wedding itself was to be a quiet family affair—Vikram wanted it that way, and Tara’s father had reluctantly agreed. Tara felt a bit of a fraud as her mother carefully arranged the folds of her green and gold brocade sari.
The whole thing didn’t seem real yet, she thought, moving her head irritably. In addition to the weight of her already heavy hair, she had enough flowers pinned in it to stock a moderate-sized florist’s shop for a week. She was extremely sleep-deprived—she hadn’t slept much the night before, and the ceremony was starting at an unearthly hour in the morning because that was the ‘auspicious time’ the Krishnans’ priest had come up with. And she was very, very jittery.
The enormity of what she was doing had just begun to dawn on her, and the result was as fine an attack of nerves as one could have hoped for.
‘This’ll be your first night—’ her mother started to say.
Tara cut across her rudely. ‘If you’re going to tell me the facts of life, Mum, you’re some ten years too late.’ Her mother flushed painfully, sending Tara into one of her instant guilt trips. ‘Sorry, Amma,’ she muttered.
Her mother recovered with dignity. ‘It’ll still be your first time. If you need to know something, ask me.’
‘Yeah, right …’ Tara muttered to herself.
Her mother hadn’t even bothered to tell her about contraception—if she thought her daughter was all that innocent, wouldn’t that be the least she’d do? Or maybe she wanted her to get pregnant, Tara thought darkly, so that she’d give up all hopes of having a career, or even a life of her own. Anyway, she’d sorted things out for herself, going to the gynaecologist mother of a friend of hers and getting three months’ supply of the Pill.
She was still brooding when her closest friend, Ritu, entered the room.
‘I’ll take over, Aunty,’ she said cheerfully to Tara’s mum. ‘Only the make-up to be done, right?’
Tara’s mother escaped thankfully, and Ritu pulled up a chair.
‘Nervy?’ she asked, raising her eyebrows.
Tara nodded.
‘I take back everything I said about this being a bad idea.’ Ritu said. ‘I saw your fiancé for about five minutes outside, and he’s gorgeous. Most women would kill for a night with a man like that.’
Tara gulped. Other than a kissing session with a college classmate, which she’d entered into on a purely experimental basis, she was terribly inexperienced when it came to men. And Vikram looked anything but inexperienced. He’d probably slept with dozens of women. The thought of the wedding night had her tied up in knots. She was so unsure about what to do and how to behave. The thought of actually getting into bed with Vikram was scary and exciting at the same time, and a little shiver went through her.
‘Feeling cold?’ Ritu asked, oblivious to the turmoil in her best friend’s mind. ‘It’ll be warmer in the main hall—it’s actually getting a bit stuffy. There are dozens of people around. You sure you don’t have some gatecrashers in there?’
Tara grinned unwillingly. At some point, the ‘quiet family affair’ had got completely out of control, probably because the ‘family’ on either side numbered over a hundred people. The noise filtered in even through the closed doors of the changing room. Everyone was talking and laughing at once, the priest was chanting Sanskrit mantras at the top of his voice, and to add to the pandemonium there were live musicians playing traditional music to accompany the mantras. The plaintive strains of the nadaswaram in the background intensified the fluttery feeling in Tara’s stomach, and for an instant she had a childish impulse to cover her ears with her hands.
After about ten more minutes her mother turned up again, to lead her out to the wedding pavilion.
‘I can’t see—stop shoving me!’ she hissed, her eyes discreetly lowered as her mother had instructed.
She was seething as she was finally pushed into her seat in front of the sacred fire by various over-helpful female relatives. The noise was much louder, and the heavy beat of the drum seemed to make her heart pound harder. Her eyes began to water—the priest had just poured a pot of butter into the fire, and it was smoking dreadfully.
‘Such a coincidence, meeting you here,’ an extremely sexy voice drawled into her ear.
She spun towards the sound and found herself looking right into Vikram’s eyes.
‘Calm down,’ he said, lowering his voice. ‘Not changed your mind, have you? You look more like you’re at a funeral than a wedding.’
‘I feel ridiculously over-dressed,’ Tara muttered, taking in the sight of Vikram in a white T-shirt over a veshti, the single white cotton kilt-like lower garment that was traditional male garb for any South Indian religious occasion—weddings and funerals included.
His hair was still damp from the shower, and the white collar of his T-shirt set off his tanned skin to perfection. Ritu was right—he looked gorgeous. Tara unconsciously clenched her hands. It wasn’t fair. She didn’t want to be attracted to him so strongly. He was just looking at her now, for God’s sake, and it was driving her crazy with longing. The suppressed heat in his eyes was making her imagine all kinds of delicious things.
‘You look absolutely stunning,’ he said finally, his voice low. ‘Don’t look at him now, but even the pundit’s checking you out.’
Tara smiled. She couldn’t help it. Vikram was perhaps a little too calm and collected, but he definitely was a help in getting things into perspective.
‘That’s better,’ Vikram said. ‘I feel a little less like an undertaker’s assistant now.’
She laughed at that, and both her parents gave her disapproving looks.
‘Vikram, kannan, you can’t get married wearing a T-shirt,’ one of the hovering aunts clicked in exasperation.
In addition to the veshti, tradition also dictated a bare-chested dress code for men.
‘It’s cold,’ someone else said chidingly. ‘He can take the T-shirt off once the actual ceremonies begin.’
‘They’re about to begin!’ the first voice chimed in. ‘Vikram …’
‘Yes—OK!’ he said in exasperation, and stood up, pulling the T-shirt over his head in one fluid movement.
Ohhhh. He had the best body Tara had ever seen off-screen, and she almost cried out in protest when he slung an angavastram carelessly across one shoulder, the white cloth covering up a large part of his near-perfect chest.
‘Drool alert,’ Ritu whispered warningly into her ear.
Tara looked away in a hurry, hoping none of the aunts had noticed her casting lustful looks at her almost-husband. She couldn’t turn off the images in her mind, though—her anticipation for their first night together had just been turned up a notch.
Most of the ceremony passed by in blur—except for her having to perch on Vikram’s knee for the duration of one particularly complex ritual. In her efforts to a) not put her full weight on him, and b) not seem too flustered at having to climb onto his lap in front of a hundred interested onlookers, she almost overbalanced.
He put his hands around her waist, his warm palms touching her bare skin just above the waistband of the sari. ‘Relax, you won’t crush me,’ he said, and pulled her back against him.
Tara sat quietly, doing her best not to breathe. For the few minutes she stayed on his lap she felt as if they were isolated from the rest of the world. The priest’s chants and the excited conversation among their relatives seemed to be coming from a long, long distance away. All that was real was the feeling of his hands on her waist, and his breath on the nape of her neck. She had a sudden mad urge to turn around and press her lips to his, and she almost shuddered with the effort of keeping still.
Finally the priest beamed around at everyone, pronouncing all the ceremonies done, and the magistrate’s assistant came forward with the marriage register. Tara felt her heart thumping in her chest as she signed it. This was it. She was tied to Vikram for the rest of her life now. She caught her father wiping his eyes furtively and was almost unbearably touched. Her mother, in contrast, for once looked completely in control.
‘So far, so good,’ Vikram murmured out of the corner of his mouth as they posed for photographs with the nth set of beaming relatives. ‘Are you feeling better now? For a minute I thought you’d bolt—you looked petrified.’
‘I didn’t!’ Tara said indignantly. Talk about a mood-killer. ‘It was all that smoke and noise.’
‘Smoke and noise?’ he repeatedly thoughtfully. ‘Hmm …’
His arm slipped round her waist, and he bent and lightly brushed his lips against hers. It was a teasingly casual embrace, but her already heightened senses went haywire at his touch. She instinctively leaned into the kiss, blushing when he drew away and surveyed her with amused eyes.
‘I’m looking forward to tonight,’ he said huskily, almost to himself.
Someone called out to him, but he held her gaze for a few seconds, his jet-black eyes burning into hers before he turned away. Tara could feel her pulse racing. Thankfully no one was near enough to notice her agitation, and she took a couple of deep breaths before she went to stand by Vikram’s side for the next round of photographs.
CHAPTER THREE
TARA scowled into the mirror. ‘This blouse was a mistake,’ she said, looking at the fussy red and silver long-sleeved brocade blouse she was supposed to wear for the wedding reception that Vikram’s father was hosting at his swanky club. ‘I shouldn’t have let my mother and the tailors bulldoze me into getting it stitched this way. I look ridiculous.’
‘Tara, it’s too late to do anything. The guests have begun to arrive,’ Ritu protested. ‘Put it on, and we’ll drape the sari in a way so it doesn’t look too bad.’
‘I am not about to step out in front of a thousand people dressed like Santa Claus in drag,’ Tara said through her teeth. ‘Can you get me a pair of scissors from somewhere?’
‘Tara …’ Ritu said despairingly.
Tara turned around. ‘I need to look like I belong with Vikram,’ she said. ‘Not like some schoolroom miss dressed up by her mum.’
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